Protection
by Niente Zero
Summary: Set closely after ATQH. Fraser will do anything to protect Inspector Thatcher from a threat to her life. Ray's got his hands full trying to protect the pair of them. And no one has time to guard against heartache. Meg/Ben.
1. Shelter

**Disclaimer - I have no rights, I acknowledge that I am merely wandering around in someone else's playground.**

--

_Sometimes you look so small, need some shelter__  
Just runnin' round and round, helter skelter__  
And I've leaned on me for years__  
Now you can lean on me  
And that's more than love, that's the way it should be  
Now I can't change the way you feel__  
But I can put my arms around you__  
That's just part of the deal  
That's the way I feel  
I'll put my arms around you_

_I stand in front of you__  
I'll take the force of the blow  
Protection_

Massive Attack, _Protection_

--

**Chapter 1 - Shelter**

Inspector Margaret Thatcher of the RCMP locked the front door of the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, straightened her business-like blazer and turned to walk to her car. The late afternoon sun was casting long shadows down the street. She kept her eyes down as she walked past her subordinate, Constable Benton Fraser. No point letting her eyes wander where they shouldn't. She was his superior, even if she had to remind herself of that fact far too frequently since the most electrifying kiss of her life on top of a speeding, runaway train.

All Thatcher's good intentions about not thinking about how Fraser's body fit against hers were bowled over by the man breaking from his immaculate position at attention to throw himself at her, pushing her to the ground and knocking the wind out of her.

Thoughts came to Thatcher quickly but in a sequence that wasn't as useful as it could have been. First was the awareness of the muscular strength of her subordinate, his arms wrapped around her in a way she had an unfortunate tendency to daydream about, his strong, lean body pressing her to the pavement.

"Constable Fraser, what do you-" the indignant, defensive words sprung to her lips before she could process the rest of her thoughts. Sounds. The squeal of tires, the soft pop of a silenced gun firing. And then blood - not a lot, but blood running down Fraser's arm. In the matter of instants it took for these impressions to settle in her mind, Fraser had rolled off her and held his hand out to help her up to squat beside him, keeping them behind the cover of a parked car.

"I think they've gone." he said, his eyes glinting with alert concentration as he listened for more tell-tale signs that the drive-by shooting might be repeated.

"Constable, you're bleeding." Thatcher said. Recovered from her moment of surprise at finding herself in such intoxicating physical proximity to Fraser, she was ready to take charge of the situation.

Fraser looked down at his arm, as if noticing for the first time that he'd been hit.

"Oh. It's only a graze, Sir." he said. "Perhaps it would be safest if we-"

"Got ourselves back inside the Consulate? Yes." Thatcher said, trying to frame it as an order, more or less. She couldn't help observe that Fraser kept his body between her and the street as they moved back to the door and inside the consulate.

Once inside, Fraser closed the door quickly. "We'd better call the police. Detective Vecchio-" he started to say.

Thatcher put up a hand to stop him.

"First things first." she said. "Your arm." She lead the way upstairs and into her office. "I have a first aid kit. Take off your tunic."

She turned to get the first aid kit from her desk.

"Oh dear. That's going to require extensive surgery." Fraser commented.

Thatcher turned around with a look of shock on her face, the first aid kit in one hand. "You said it was just a graze!" she said.

Fraser was holding up his red uniform tunic, a finger poking through the hole the bullet had made. "The entire sleeve is going to have to be replaced." he said mournfully.

Thatcher pursed her lips and suppressed a sigh of exasperation. He had just been shot, it was probably not the right time to yell at him for scaring her.

"You'll need to take your undershirt off, too." she said briskly, trying to keep things between them professional.

Fraser pulled down his suspenders and slipped the torn and bloody undershirt off over his head.

"If you'll give me the first aid kit, I can bandage my arm." he said.

"One handed? I don't think so, Constable. Sit down."

"Well, then I could at least call Detective Vecchio while you bandage it."

Thatcher conceded this point and gave him the phone. She forced herself to concentrate on his arm, which needed cleaning with antiseptic cream and bandaging with gauze, rather than on the broad chest and flat stomach that drew her eyes to them. He seemed entirely unaware of the effect he was having on her. While that stung a little, she supposed that it was a good thing.

Fraser was not entirely unaware of the effect he was having on Inspector Thatcher. If he seemed that way, it was through sheer discipline. His superior officer had told him that the kiss they had shared could never be repeated, and he was doing what he could to forget the sparks that flew between them, even with her fingers on his arm, even with that unique scent she had, even with the way he could feel her pulse racing through her touch and closeness.

Right now was not the time to be noticing anything about her other than that her life was in danger. It was one thing to give in to weakness, chemistry, during the life-and-death thrill ride on the train. It wasn't admirable, but it was human. But there was no such excuse now they were back in their day to day lives. The burning pain in his arm was doing a very good job of quelling other, less convenient, physical reactions.

"Ray." he spoke into the phone. "There's been an incident outside the Consulate."

As Meg Thatcher carefully cleaned the bullet graze, she put together the angle of the wound, the direction from which she'd heard the tires squeal, the position in which she'd been standing when Fraser knocked her to the ground, and as Fraser spoke the words into the phone, she'd come to the same conclusion:

"Someone tried to kill Inspector Thatcher."

Thatcher tensed as she heard Ray Vecchio's startled "What?" explode down the phone line.

Fraser outlined events calmly and concisely. "I was standing on sentry duty when Inspector Thatcher exited the Consulate." He left out that he noticed the way her eyes brushed over him and away. "I saw a car that had been parked start to move, and the window roll down. I just noticed the distinctive shape of the end of a silencer in time to push Inspector Thatcher down out of the line of fire."

He paused, listening to Ray's response.

"No, Ray, she wasn't hurt." Another pause, longer. "Well, yes. But just a scratch. No, Ray, really. I'm fine."

Fraser hung up the phone as Thatcher finished fastening the gauze firmly into place.

"He says he'll be over with a crime scene team as soon as possible." Fraser informed Thatcher.

"I should..." he gestured at his bare chest. Thatcher glanced across, then turned away, busying herself putting the first aid kit away.

"I have a spare uniform." Fraser said with a blush as he realized he'd just drawn her attention to the state of undress that they'd both been pretending wasn't an issue.

He left her office and came back soon after with his spare tunic pulled on over his left arm, but only draped over the injured right arm, and left unbuttoned. Thatcher was sitting behind her desk. She decided that without the benefit of the undershirt, the red coat draped over him did absolutely nothing to reduce his physical appeal. Thatcher took a deep breath and thought icy thoughts. Cold shower. Snow down the back of her blazer. Anything.

There was a bustle downstairs, Turnbull opening the door to Ray. Fraser took the opportunity to leave Thatcher's office, hurrying down the stairs to meet the detective.

"Benny!" Ray looked worried. "You sure you're all right?"

"Ray, it was just a graze!" Fraser insisted. They stood on the steps of the Consulate while the crime scene team gathered evidence. One of them was drawing a careful chalk line around Fraser's Stetson where it had fallen when he dove to protect Thatcher.

"I'll need you and the Inspector to come down to the station and make statements." Ray said.

"All right. I think the immediate danger to Inspector Thatcher has passed, but I would be more comfortable knowing that she was in police protection anyway."

Ray glance sideways at his partner. "We're going to have to find you a shirt before you go anywhere."

"I'm afraid I'm not decently dressed, but unfortunately my undershirt was quite ruined."

"It's not your decency I'm worried about, Benny." Ray snickered. "Elaine and the rest of the girls will eat you alive if you turn up showing that much skin. God forbid if my sister is hanging around." It was worth it to see Fraser turn bright red, then very pale at the thought.

"Don't worry, I have my dry cleaning in the Riv."

Thus, when they arrived at the station, Fraser was sporting a lovely blue and orange floral print shirt that was far too tight across his chest and clashed remarkably with the red serge of his tunic. He was in no danger of being swooned upon inappropriately by any of the lovely ladies in blue.

Ray took Thatcher's statement in an interview room, while Detective Jack Huey took Fraser's statement. Afterwards, Lieutenant Welsh requested their presence in his office. He offered Inspector Thatcher a seat, but Ray and Fraser remained standing. Welsh looked at Fraser's outfit and then gave it a second, astonished glance and a small shake of his head.

"Inspector. An attempted murder, resulting in an injury to a peace officer outside the Canadian Consulate. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this has the makings of a serious international incident." Welsh said dryly.

"That would be a correct interpretation." Thatcher replied. "But I'm not looking to make trouble for the United States."

"Appreciate it. But all things considered, the sooner we can track down the perps, the better, wouldn't you say?"

Thatcher inclined her head in agreement.

"So, can you think of anyone who would have a reason to want you dead?"

Ray snorted at Welsh's question, earning him glares of reproof from Welsh and Thatcher, and a slightly hurt look from Fraser. Ray smoothed his face into a deadpan expression. "Sorry, dust in my nose or something." he prevaricated.

"No, Lieutenant." Thatcher said. She added, perhaps more sharply than she meant it to sound, "Unlike Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio, I don't seem to lead the kind of colorful life that results in people trying to take revenge on me."

Welsh looked at Ray and Fraser, neither of whom had the happiest expressions on their face. Ray looked outright pissed, whereas Fraser was unreadable as usual, but definitely not pleased. Neither of them needed reminding of the dark events in their lives that had resulted from being caught up in twisted revenge schemes.

"Think harder, then, Inspector. Because looking at the crime scene reports, it's obvious you were the target of a co-ordinated assault. Is there the possibility that you've unwittingly witnessed a crime recently? Something that didn't seem important at the time but might seem hinky now?"

Inspector Thatcher crossed her arms in front of her chest. Being in the Lieutenant's office always put her off base. It was so much his territory, and he was questioning her as brusquely as if she'd been one of his own officers.

Fraser chose that moment to interject helpfully, "I think that the Lieutenant is suggesting that it's possible that you know something that you don't know you know. If you know what I mean."

That only served to exasperate Thatcher further.

"I really can't think of anything right now. I've made my statement, and if it's all the same with you, it's been a long, troubling day, and I'd like to go home." she said.

Welsh and Fraser spoke at the same time.

"You can't-" Fraser blurted

"Inspector," Welsh said, raising his voice to speak over the Mountie. "I don't think it be a great idea for you to go home right now with an unknown person or persons gunning for you."

Thatcher rolled her eyes. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. If you want, send someone with me to check the place out. But I'm going home."

"Inspector-" Fraser began to speak, but Thatcher interrupted him.

"Constable, I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter." The truth was, she was shaken, almost scared, but she was damned if he was going to see that. "I expect you to have the sense not to contradict your superior officer."

Ray rolled his eyes. Yeah, he couldn't think why anyone would want to shoot her. Hah! She couldn't even be civil to the man who'd just saved her life.

"Yes sir." Fraser murmured. He didn't mean to put Inspector Thatcher on the defensive, and there wasn't anything he could do about it now that she was. It was better to let Lieutenant Welsh see to her security.

Ray patted Fraser's shoulder. "C'mon." he said, glaring for a split second at Thatcher, "It's been a long day for you, too, what with getting shot and all. Let me give you a ride home."

Fraser found it impossible to settle down to sleep after he'd eaten dinner and taken Diefenbaker for a walk. Loneliness was never so powerful as when it had been all too recently contrasted with something he needed but couldn't have. Most nights were bearable, he had the excuse of exercising Diefenbaker to roam the city streets until he'd physically worn himself out, and he could sleep and not dream or not remember dreaming of the two women, the poisonous one he had loved, the one who he could love if she would let him. But after being so close to Meg as he protected her from the shooting, the memory of the smell of her wouldn't leave him tonight. Eventually he gave up on trying to sleep and got up and dressed again.

"Diefenbaker, we're going to the Consulate to complete some paperwork." he said. "Come on."

The wolf opened one eye and then closed it again, not deigning to lift his head.

"Oh, come on. It's only seven minutes' walk." Fraser chided him. "And you're a wolf. Wolves are nocturnal. Or have you forgotten that?"

Diefenbaker opened both eyes and merely glared, still not moving.

"Fine, stay here then." Fraser said. "I'll see you later."

The Consulate was dark. Fraser let himself in the front door and locked it behind him. As he headed up the stairs, he noticed a thin line of light coming from under Thatcher's door. Could she have come back to work after being attacked? Or was someone in there who shouldn't be?

**Author's Note:**

**Um. So. Romance. Not my normal genre. But this story wanted to be told in a particular way, so here we are. I hope you'll enjoy, and don't forget that feedback is the best way to straighten out authors who are messing with forces beyond their wildest comprehension. Oh, and there's more than enough action to make up for all the yearning glances and so forth, I promise!**


	2. I'll Take the Force of the Blow

**Chapter 2 - I'll Take the Force of the Blow**

Fraser moved forward cautiously. He pushed open the door with his foot and stood pressed flat to the wall beside the doorway. Nothing happened. Maybe she had just left her light on. He thought back. Had she had a desk lamp on when they left? It had been late afternoon. He couldn't be sure whether it had or not.

With the same caution, he turned slowly to look into the room.

That was what the intruders had been waiting for. Fraser immediately found himself fighting off three large men wearing balaclavas and dark clothing. One of them grabbed his arms from behind, and as he tried to throw the man off, another leveled a hefty straight punch into his solar plexus. The third was helping the first man to hold him. Fraser groaned at the impact of the punch and kicked out, catching the puncher on the leg. He wriggled free of the first man's grip, but the third man quickly stepped in to get control of his arms again. The first man, who'd been holding him originally, swung an uppercut to Fraser's jaw, sending his head snapping backwards. By the time he had fought loose of the hold of the third man, the man who had punched him in the stomach was lifting up Thatcher's chair, bringing it down hard across Fraser's shoulders.

The first man who had grabbed him grunted. "Look, he's bleeding."

Blood from the earlier graze was trickling down Fraser's arm, staining his long-sleeved shirt. The man with the chair lifted it again and targeted Fraser's arm. Fraser leaned away, but the chair still struck him across the already weakened arm. He clutched his arm in pain. The men had the advantage on him now, and they crowded around. The two without the chair each grabbed one arm, the one on the injured side deliberately gripping with a tight squeeze of his fingers, making Fraser's efforts to get free considerably less potent than they would have been otherwise.

The third man put the chair down and grabbed Fraser's chin. "I bet you know where the stupid bitch lives." he said. "I know you can't wait to tell us." He stepped back and delivered a solid punch to Fraser's midsection, before addressing the two other men. "Let's get this done."

The two men holding Fraser by the arms dragged him across the hallway into the bathroom off his office. The man who'd hit him with the chair ran water in the basin.

"Handy he showed up." said the man who'd pointed out that he was bleeding.

"Yeah, might save us some time." chair man replied.

The third of the intruders, less talkative than the two men who had spoken so far, merely grunted his agreement.

Fraser was still struggling, but he couldn't break loose from the grip the two men had on him. Chair man waited until the basin was full of water and then, standing behind Fraser, shoved his head down into the water.

Fraser felt the faucet scrape along his scalp. He pushed back, straining the muscles in his shoulders and neck to try to lift his head, but it made no difference. Chair man held his head under the water until Fraser thought his lungs would burst. When the man finally let him lift his head out, it was only to hear, "Where is she? Where does she live?" in concert from the two more talkative intruders.

Fraser spat out a mouthful of water. He could taste his own blood from the gash on his scalp. He said nothing. If they had been searching the office for Thatcher's home address, that meant that she was currently safe unless he spoke. As far as Fraser was concerned, there was no power on earth that could get him to put her back in the line of fire by giving up her location. The thought of any of these rough men laying a hand on her in violence was insupportable.

"Go again." the man who had spoken first said. Again, Fraser's head was pushed into the full basin. He held his breath and counted. The seconds rolled on and he had to fight the natural instinct to gasp for air. The men were serious. Eventually he couldn't hold his breath any longer. After he had exhaled and choked in water, the third man let him lift his head, coughing and retching out the water that he'd taken in.

"Now, answer the question, unless you want to me to drown you like a stray cat." chair man said. Fraser noted that his voice was gruff, the accent firmly working class. There was nothing else useful about it that he could identify. Nor had the other man been particularly distinctive in his speech patterns.

"Never." Fraser spat hoarsely.

"Your funeral." the man said, tugging Fraser's hair painfully.

Fraser had the beginning of a completely half-baked strategy but it seemed like the only possible way out of the situation. As the man pushed his head under again, Fraser struggled as hard as he could, once more. But this time, after counting to nearly the tolerance of holding his breath the previous time and feeling his lungs burn and his ears ring as his air ran out, he let himself slump limply in the arms of the two men holding him.

"Great, you killed him." the first man said in an indifferent tone of voice. "Well, at least we'll be able to search in peace."

All of the men loosened their holds on Fraser. This was enough for him. He flung his head back hard, smashing it into the face of the man who'd been holding him under. He felt too dizzy and light-headed from lack of oxygen to fight properly, so shaking off the loose holds of the other men, he ran, stumbling down the stairs two at a time and jumping over the bannister of the bottom landing to reach the front entrance of the Consulate. He quickly himself out the door and slammed it behind him.

Fraser's head was spinning and he had to stop to cough, but he made his way down the street to the nearest pay phone and shut himself inside the booth. The booth was lit by a small fluorescent bulb, which he unscrewed. There was no point making himself an obvious target against the dark of the night. He dialed Ray Vecchio's cell phone number from memory.

The phone rang and rang, with no answer. Fraser hung up the pay phone. He guessed Ray must be charging his cell phone's chunky battery. He looked out into the street. There was no sign of the three men yet, but his time was likely to be short.

That left him with no choice but to call the Vecchio home regardless of how late the hour was. Luckily, Ray picked up the phone at his bedside before anyone else got up.

"Benny, what is it?" he demanded, as soon as he'd woken up enough to figure out who was calling. He hadn't recognized the hoarse voice immediately. "You all right?"

"Not especially, no." Fraser said. "I came back to the Consulate to get some work done and... " he stopped and coughed again. "I ran afoul of three intruders, who were looking for Inspector Thatcher's address."

"Where are you now?" Ray's voice was sharp with alarm.

"The phone booth down the street."

"And where are these guys?" Ray said.

"The last I saw of them, they were attempting to pursue me out of the Consulate."

Ray made a choked sound, then said "Hang in there, I'll be right over. For god's sake, be careful, Benny."

Fraser made one last call, to 911, alerting them to the break in. Then he ducked out of the phone booth and set about the difficult task of being almost within reach but not quite, to keep the intruders on the scene until the police arrived. If he could play hide and seek with them for long enough, it would help to find out who was behind the attack on Thatcher, and why.

Of course, if he didn't move fast enough, the price for trying to keep them around was liable to be high.

The first thing to do was make some deliberate noise. Fraser let his foot brush against a garbage can, pushing it just enough that the metal lid clanged to the ground. He heard footsteps, fast, headed toward him. The hunt was on, and he was the fox. At least it was too dark for them to try to shoot a blurry, moving target. He hoped.

He ran on down the street and turned into a side street. It was odd being the pursued; he was more accustomed to pursuing, relentlessly going after criminals. These criminals seemed equally relentless, and it worried him that he could only hear two sets of footsteps behind him.

Fraser knew there was a chainlink fence in the middle of the alley. He was counting on it to keep the pursuers busy. He scaled the fence easily in spite of the graze on his arm, and watched with satisfaction as one of the intruders doubled back to try another way around, and the other struggled to climb over. His satisfaction was short lived as the third man, the one who had struck him with a chair and had held his head under the water, appeared at the end of the alley. Apparently he had already thought to swing around that way to cut off Fraser's escape.

Fraser ran forward. He wasn't going to get pinned between this man and the one clambering over the fence. He moved aggressively, lowering his shoulder and plowing into the man who was trying to stop him. They grappled, and Fraser got in a satisfying punch to the man's already damaged nose. Noses didn't tend to fare well in competition with the backs of heads. The man let out an agonized and angry growl and redoubled his efforts to get Fraser under control, his strong grip squeezing Fraser's bleeding arm.

Fraser threw everything into punching and kicking, looking for openings in the man's defense and taking them. The man was repaying the favor, though, and Fraser needed to end the fight quickly before he ended up surrounded again. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he focused on forcing the man backward toward the building on one side of the alley, saving his strength for a dizzying punch that sent the man reeling into the bricks. Fraser wrenched his arm away and with a small stumble set off again. He wanted to keep them all close to the Consulate.

He rounded the corner to find himself face to face with the man who'd balked at climbing the fence. The man had a gun in his hand. Fraser reacted quickly, instinctively. They'd drilled on this so many times at the Academy that his response was just as automatic as changing the spark plugs on a snowmobile. His hand flew out, gripping the barrel of the gun and forcing it to face down and away from him. He shoved forward, pushing the intruder's hand with the gun hard into the man's stomach. He was already swinging forceful punches at the intruder's head with his other hand. This was not a situation where he could afford to let anything unfold slowly. When he felt the man with the gun begin to go limp under his attack, Fraser reached down and yanked the gun out of the man's hand. He took the clip out and dropped it and the gun to the ground.

It only took seconds, but it was enough time for the other two men to catch up, and as much as Fraser had wanted to avoid being surrounded, he found himself in a tight circle of angry men. He hoped he'd given Ray and the police enough time to arrive SOON. Not that he was giving up, oh, no. Three against one was not wholly horrible odds. But it did put him on the defensive against a barrage of punches.

Ray passed the entrance to the Consulate and saw it was dark. He started to circle the block and hit the brakes hard when he saw Fraser surrounded by the men. He got out of the Riviera and pulled his gun.

"POLICE!" he shouted. "FREEZE!" This was reinforced by the sound of sirens as a patrol car arrived outside the Consulate. The men paused in their assault and as one, turned to run.

Finally, Fraser was in the position of the pursuer. He wanted to bring down at least one of the men, preferably the man who had talked most, he seemed to be the brains of the operation. He launched himself into a flying tackle of the man and took him to the ground. Ray ran up behind him. The other two men were getting away, but Ray wasn't taking any chances on letting the man fight back and hurt Fraser.

Ray took over, cuffing the man on the ground. Fraser stood, panting heavily. He felt quite dizzy, and turned to lean against the wall while Ray read the suspect his rights. Ray pulled the man to his feet.

"Let's get this guy down to the station." he said, walking him toward the front of the Consulate where the uniformed officers waited. Fraser straightened up. Ray looked him over. His face was bruised and there was blood on his forehead from a scrape above the hairline. And Ray knew that particular posture far too well. It was the stiffly poised one that said 'my ribs just got used as a drum kit' while Fraser pretended nothing was wrong. Ray sighed. "I kinda wish he'd resisted arrest, y'know."

Ray saw the intruder safely into the patrol car and then he and Fraser went back to the Riviera. Fraser eased himself into the car.

"They were after Inspector Thatcher." he said, as Ray started the car.

Ray looked over at him ruefully. "But they got you."

"I'm fine, Ray." Fraser said. "Well, I need to re-bandage my arm, and clean up a bit." And sleep for a thousand hours, would be nice. He didn't vocalize that part. There was still a lot to be done. They now had one suspect who might be able to shed light on why someone was trying to kill his superior officer.

"By the way," Ray said, "bad news on catching the guys who did the drive-by."

"Oh?" Fraser said.

"Yeah, of course you got the plate number, but turns out those plates must have been stolen. The car you saw was a late model black sedan. That registration number belongs on a green VW beetle owned by a guy in Waukegan. Not a whole lot we can do to track the car."

"Ah." Fraser said. It was too late and he was too worn out to express more irritation at the futility of their search for the car.

The exhaustion that Fraser felt was impossible to fight completely, and in the short journey to the station, his eyes fell closed and his head lolled against the car window. Ray looked over and sighed. It'd be a damn shame to have to wake him up, but Fraser wouldn't want to miss seeing the interview of the thug.

Fraser spent ten minutes cleaning up at the station, and then, with the aid of a cup of the pitch-black coffee in the break room, he seemed to bounce back to his full capacity. Ray watched him looking at the perpetrator through the two-way mirror into the interview room, marveling at Fraser's apparently endless vigor. Although he still looked tired, the light of curiosity in his eyes was the predominantly noticeable feature.

"Don't worry." Ray said. "I'll have him talking in no time." He left his partner and went into the interview room.

The suspect's fingerprints had been taken while Fraser was cleaning up, and he turned up on the computer as one Brian McCarthy, a violent criminal who was not notable for working on his own- he was essentially a career hired thug.

"So, you're looking for Inspector Thatcher?" Ray eased into the interrogation of McCarthy. "Why? Who's paying for it? Why do they want to find her?"

McCarthy sat with his arms crossed across his chest, silent.

"Come on, you know you're in deep shit here. You give me a name, a number, anything, I can maybe help you. Who are you working for? What do they want with Thatcher?"

The interrogation went on in this vein, with Ray becoming increasingly heated, and McCarthy sitting silent, but with a look of deep misgiving on his face, for a solid hour. Finally Ray gave up in disgust. The man just wasn't talking.

When Ray had handed McCarthy back over to the duty Sergeant to be taken down to the holding cells, he went back into the room where Fraser was watching. Fraser was swaying slightly on his feet. It was now two in the morning, and Ray wanted nothing more than to get home to bed, but he had to take care of his partner first.

"Come on, you don't look so hot. Let's get you checked out."

Fraser protested. "I just need to get some sleep, Ray. I have to be at the Consulate in-" he checked his watch "four and a half hours, so if you wouldn't mind dropping me home."

Ray shook his head. "For once, don't be so damned stubborn."

Fraser sighed, and then coughed. Walking home was - not sounding terribly appealing, which left him with complying with Ray's wishes.

**Author's Note: If you're wondering where Thatcher is, don't worry, she'll be right back in chapter 3. Hope you're enjoying the story so far. Special thanks to those who reviewed! It's always great to hear what people are thinking of it.**


	3. Now You Can Lean On Me

**Chapter 3 - Now You Can Lean on Me**

It was six a.m. before the two men left the emergency room. Fraser was obviously not bleeding to death, so there had been a wait before a doctor had seen him, tutted over his general state, made him sit through x-rays, taped his ribs, re-dressed his arm and dressed his scalp wound and sent him packing with a prescription for antibiotics to fight off the signs of infection that the doctor had noticed around the graze on his arm.

"You might as well take me straight to the Consulate, if you don't mind." Fraser said. He was out of uniform, but there would be a lot to do, dealing with the aftermath of the break-in, and if he went home to get changed, he'd probably end up napping and late for work. Underneath it all he felt a stirring restlessness to see Inspector Thatcher again with his own eyes, be sure that she was still safe.

Ray didn't bother answering. He wasn't taking Fraser to work, that was for sure. The man hadn't slept, and while Ray understood that Thatcher was in danger, the Chicago PD was more than adequately able to take care of the threat that she seemed to be under. He drove toward Fraser's building.

"Ray?" Fraser said. "Did you hear me?"

Ray shook his head, and then finally sighed and answered. "Sorry, Benny, but you're in no shape to go to work. You've been up all night, and that's not even mentioning the little trip to the ER. I'm going to drop you home and then I'm going to go sleep. You'll be much more use after you rest."

Fraser rubbed his eyes and blinked. Ray did have a point. And Diefenbaker needed feeding and letting out. Maybe he could catch an hour's sleep and just be a little late in to the Consulate. He'd probably still be there before anyone else.

"About Inspector Thatcher-" Fraser said as Ray pulled up outside his building.

"We'll have it covered. She'll have police protection to go in to the Consulate, of course. We're not just going to let her be a sitting duck for these guys, you know."

"Ah." Fraser said. "Well. That sounds..." he rubbed his eyes again. "That sounds good, Ray."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get some sleep. I'll see you later." Ray said.

Diefenbaker greeted Fraser inside the door of his apartment, barking and dancing around his feet.

"Yes, I know it's your breakfast time." Fraser said, reaching down to stroke the wolf's head.

He poured a bowl of food for Diefenbaker. After he set it down on the floor he slid down to a sitting position, resting his back against the wall. Maybe Ray was right. He was so tired. He'd just close his eyes for a minute.

Diefenbaker ignored his food, instead tugging on Fraser's sleeve, trying to get his human to get up and into the bed. When this effort failed, the wolf dragged over a blanket and pillow. His packmate was terrible at looking after himself, Diefenbaker observed. He needed a lot of herding and safekeeping. And wolves generally didn't exactly _herd_. Only once he was content that Fraser was about as comfortable as possible on the floor did he attack his food bowl with enthusiasm.

The sound of knocking on his door awoke Fraser. He leaped to his feet, then groaned. Sleeping on the floor without a bedroll, and with a number of bruises, was not the best idea he'd ever had. He was alarmed to notice how low the sun was in the sky as he crossed the room to open the door. Apparently he had napped for quite a lot more than the hour he'd planned.

Thatcher and Ray stood outside.

"Oh." Fraser said. "Inspector- I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to-"

Thatcher brushed his apology aside. "Are you going to invite us in?" she said.

Fraser held the door open. Ray's expression was leaning more toward the smirk than the scowl, which Fraser wasn't sure how to interpret.

"Constable, Lieutenant Welsh informed me of the break-in at the Consulate and Detective Vecchio briefed me on your role in events. I didn't come here to chastise you for not being at work on time." Thatcher swallowed, and spoke the next words with as little inflection as she could. "I just wanted to see that you were all right. Detective Vecchio informed me that you had been to the Emergency Room."

Fraser's eyebrows shot up. She wasn't there to dress him down for failing to do his duty. Well, that was a pleasant change.

Thatcher inspected her subordinate closely. She noticed the small pile of bedding on the floor. He hadn't even slept in his bed? He looked far more rumpled than she had ever seen him, his form-fitting jeans and long sleeved t-shirt clearly slept in, which to tell the truth, was not exactly unappealing. Even the bruising around his jaw couldn't make him look bad. She fought stray thoughts of waking up next to him, running her hands through his cropped hair, her fingers over that fine dusting of stubble.

"How're you feeling?" Ray asked. He had slept quite well himself, but then he hadn't gone several rounds with three angry thugs.

"Actually," Fraser rubbed the back of his head, "I'm feeling extremely hungry."

"Well then. There must be somewhere around here that has acceptable food." Thatcher said. "I suggest you get some clean clothes on. We'll wait downstairs. Then we can discuss last night's events more fully while we eat."

Fraser and Ray both reacted with surprise, although Fraser's was better concealed. Could his often uptight superior really be proposing that they hang out socially in his neighborhood? With Detective Vecchio? Without being coerced at gunpoint into being nice to Ray?

"That- sounds like a good idea, Sir." was what he said, and then pushed his luck a bit further. "If you don't mind, Diefenbaker is probably keen to go out. If you could- while I get changed?"

Diefenbaker barked once. He really needed to go outside.

"Come on then, boy." Ray said. "Nature calls."

Thatcher looked mildly disgusted, but said, "Fine then. We'll meet you outside."

Fraser quickly shaved and washed up, and changed into a clean, newish sweatshirt and a clean pair of jeans. He was still, as far as he could tell, off duty.

-o-o-o-

There _had_ been a show of temper from Thatcher regarding Fraser's absence from the Consulate in the morning, but Fraser had the fortune to miss it, being safely asleep on his floor at the time.

When she had arrived at work and found that Fraser wasn't there, Thatcher had stormed and ranted at Constable Turnbull about the irresponsibility of certain people. Then later in the day, when Ray had shown up to see how Fraser was, she'd stormed and ranted at Ray.

"Detective Vecchio, I don't know how things work in the Chicago PD, but in my Consulate, if a man is due to be on duty he is at his post, on time, not god only knows where!"

That was when Ray, tired of seeing his friend insulted and belittled, and worried because apparently Fraser hadn't made it in to work, which wasn't good, had slammed the door to Thatcher's office closed and given her a piece of his mind. Specifically the piece about her caring more about the job than whether her subordinate was actually all right.

"He stood up to a bunch of guys for you last night, to protect you, and ended up in the ER, and all you give a damn about is punctuality?"

Thatcher found herself yelling back about how no-one bothered to inform her that Fraser had been to the Emergency Room.

"What am I supposed to think, Vecchio, when he's just not here, no phone call, no anything? What am I supposed to think when the day after someone takes a shot at me, I come in to find my office trashed and the police all over the place and my most reliable man just doesn't turn up to work? You know, he's never taken a sick day for as long as I've been here. He's never late. He'd never just not show up. Not unless-" her rant ended with a shaking voice.

And that was when the clue penetrated Ray's thick skull that perhaps she did indeed care very much as to Fraser's welfare. She was just doing a terrible job of demonstrating it.

Ray lifted his hands up in an appeasing gesture. "Okay, okay. Here's the deal. I dropped Fraser at his place this morning. He was pretty much dead on his feet. Probably just ended up oversleeping. How about you and I go over and you can see how he's doing for yourself?"

Thus, they'd arrived at Fraser's door together.

-o-o-o-

The small diner where they ended up eating was not entirely like anything that Inspector Thatcher had experienced since her student days at the Academy. Once again as she looked around at the bare surroundings she wondered at the austere choices Fraser made.

"I seem to have missed breakfast." Fraser said, before ordering a plate consisting of three fried eggs, a giant mess of corned beef hash, bacon, toast and a side order of pancakes.

Ray was less hungry, contenting himself with the blue-plate special of meatloaf. Fraser added an order of meatloaf for Diefenbaker.

Inspector Thatcher looked at the one page menu. "Ah... a salad?" she ventured.

The waiter rubbed his hands on his greasy white apron.

"We got lettuce and ranch dressing. OK?"

"Romaine?" Thatcher asked hopefully.

The waiter shrugged. "Lettuce."

Ray teased Thatcher gently. "Come on, live a little. Try the meatloaf."

"Fine. I'll have what he's having." she said, not without some misgiving.

When the food arrived, Fraser tucked in with a great appetite. Thatcher found that the meatloaf and mashed potatoes were actually very good, and it was good to see her roughed up, although now clean-shaven, subordinate putting away food like it was his last meal on earth. He couldn't be badly hurt if he could eat like that. Although how he could eat like that and still have a butt you could bounce a quarter off -no, her mind was not going to drift in that direction, not now!

Of course, it wasn't only Fraser's admittedly formidable physical charms that made Meg's heart flutter when he walked into a room. She'd come to Chicago having prejudged Fraser. Everyone _knew_ that Bob Fraser had been one of the best. And everyone _knew_ that Benton Fraser was a disappointment, a man who'd screwed things up so badly he had to be sent away so as not to embarrass the force.

Then, she'd walked in after the debacle with the female bank robber who'd been setting Fraser up out of revenge. It hadn't looked good, and there were details about the situation that still didn't reflect well on Fraser, but she'd never been able to find out more about what had happened - no one was talking.

But Meg Thatcher was not a stupid woman, and she'd seen reasonably quickly that Fraser wasn't what everyone back in Ottawa said. And from that realization, it hadn't taken much digging to figure out that the unforgivable crime against the force that he'd committed had been to do the right thing and bring his father's killer to justice.

Subsequent events with Gerard had only reinforced the justness of Fraser's actions in taking down one of his fellow Mounties. And she'd seen Fraser's incredible dedication to justice, to protecting the weak, all the reasons that she'd joined the RCMP in the first place, all the things that had been tarnished by her time serving with Henri Cloutier, and her role stuck behind a desk pushing paper and playing politics. He renewed her faith in the force, which was something she hated having lost.

From there, the path to finding herself admiring deeply the man who sat across the table from her now had been altogether too swift for her peace of mind. Especially since _he_ seemed to be quite capable of maintaining a professional distance from _her_.

Ray waited until Fraser had the chance to clear half his plate before he started talking about the case.

"So what we have so far," he said, "is these guys definitely took a shot at the Inspector yesterday afternoon."

"But they didn't know where she lives." Fraser added. "Only where she works."

"Which means it probably isn't personal as such." Ray said.

"And we didn't get any information from McCarthy last night, except for his identity, from which we were able to deduce that he's most likely working for someone else, rather than acting independently." Fraser said.

Thatcher watched them with interest. They seemed to have a very direct rapport, finishing each other's thoughts.

Both of their gazes turned to Thatcher, and she thought that she wouldn't want to be a criminal facing interrogation from either of them. Even without hostility, there was something searching and discerning that made her feel like a moth pinned to a board.

"Inspector," Ray said, "yesterday, you couldn't think of anything you might have seen that could have caused someone to consider you a threat."

"But it would appear from the haste and drastic measures that whoever is responsible took, two attacks in under twelve hours, that this must be a response to something recent." Fraser added.

Ray concluded, "So, did you happen to have a chance, overnight, to think of anything, anything at all...?"

Thatcher considered the question. She had spent some hours wracking her brain and there was only one incident in the past week that she thought odd. But she couldn't see what it had to do with her getting shot at. Still, with the three of them examining the idea, it might get further than her futile guessing and speculating. On the other hand, no, it was so minor.

"What is it, Sir?" Fraser asked. He could see she had thought of something, but was holding back from speaking.

"It's probably nothing." Thatcher said reluctantly.

"If something stood out, you should trust your instinct." Fraser said seriously, encouraging Thatcher to go on. His eyes held hers for a long moment before she glanced back down to her nearly empty coffee cup. He trusted her observational skills, and he wished he could pass that trust along to her, help her be more comfortable in her own judgement.

The waiter brought over a refill of coffee, and Fraser took out the antibiotics he was supposed to take with food and swallowed two with the strong, dark coffee. His arm was throbbing, and a side-effect of sleeping through breakfast and lunch was not getting started on the pills.

Thatcher reached for the cream, and Fraser reached to pass it to her at the same time. Their hands brushed, and their eyes met again briefly. Fraser looked startled. The antibiotics weren't supposed to make his heart race like that! His lips parted slightly and he blinked as he realized what had happened. He should be able to stand a simple touch from her without his body overreacting. But removed from the normal context of being in uniform and dealing with her as a superior officer, all the barriers against the undeniable chemistry between them seemed to have fallen away.

Thatcher snatched her hand away, almost spilling the cream, then overcorrected, pouring it into her coffee slowly and carefully before setting it back down. She composed herself, stopping to sip the coffee before she went on speaking.

"I'm sure it's nothing. It was just- last Tuesday night I was at the Ecuadorian Consulate for a reception. I happened to go out into one of the private courtyards for a breath of fresh air, and I did see-"

She furrowed her brow. Fraser and Ray leaned in toward her.

"Well, everybody knows that there have been negotiations going on over a piece of state-owned land in Ecuador that appears to have very rich oil fields."

Fraser nodded. "In Yasuni National Park." he said.

Ray rolled his eyes. Everyone knew? Huh, it was news to him. Of course Fraser knew, and probably the exact map co-ordinates of the oil field in question. The man was unbelievable sometimes.

"Yes. Well, I saw the Ecuadorian Trade Minister with Harvey Loman. I didn't hear what they were talking about, but I know that the Loman Corporation has been trying to buy its way in to Yasuni. The Ecuadorians have been holding out, because it's protected rainforest."

Fraser pressed his lips together, and rubbed his eyebrow.

"But the only reason it would matter that you saw them together would be if something illegal is about to happen and they knew that after the fact you might realize the significance of their meeting on that night." he said.

Ray nodded knowingly. "They're about to pull something big, and they need to keep it hush-hush."

"In which case, it was extremely careless of them to meet in a relatively public setting." Fraser observed.

"I, ah." Thatcher rolled her eyes at her reticence to disclose the next piece of information. "I wasn't supposed to be in the courtyard. No-one was. It was off limits to guests. But one of the guests had been, well, bothering me. Chauvinist pig." she muttered under her breath.

"And they were talking quite heatedly." Thatcher added. She looked thoughtful. "Possibly something came up at the last minute that needed to be settled and precluded greater caution."

"Sounds like it." Ray said. "Harvey Loman doing his company's business in person - that'd have to be something important." The Loman corporation was rumored to have grown so large and influential mostly because of Harvey Loman's talent for greasing the right palms in foreign countries and at home, and for dealing harshly with people who got in the way of his company's success. But the multi-millionaire founder was supposed to be semi-retired from running the company now.

"Or." Thatcher sighed. "It could have been entirely innocent. I could be misreading it. There could be some other reason someone attacked me."

"With all due respect, Inspector." Ray said, "Benny's right. You have to go with your instincts. If your gut says something's fishy with this, something's fishy."

Fraser nodded, and then spoke with an intensity of feeling that he hadn't intended. "If the Loman Corporation or the Ecuadorian trade minister are behind the attacks, then I'm afraid that you're in great danger."

**Author's Note: Next chapter we have more action as the story reaches its climax, then there's one more chapter of some serious romancin' to wrap things up.**

Thanks everyone for the encouraging reviews! I always appreciate feedback, it definitely influences my revision process for the chapters that are still in the works.  



	4. I'll Stand In Front of You

**Chapter 4 - I'll Stand In Front of You**

Fraser looked around the diner, assessing their position. Knowing the power of the people who were probably behind the threat to Thatcher, he was suddenly concerned that they were far too vulnerable where they were. Ray, likewise, seemed to shift fluidly into a defensive state. Thatcher watched the unspoken language flowing between them with a small pang of envy. It'd been far too long since she'd done any police work in an active capacity, and she missed the trust that experienced partners shared.

"So what do we do now?" Thatcher asked.

"I'd like to get you over to the station ASAP." Ray said. He motioned over the waiter and settled the bill. "We can question McCarthy again. I mean, no way can we go up against Loman with only what we have, but maybe with a name to press him with, we can get McCarthy to stop clamming up so tight."

Fraser stood up and walked over to the front of the diner. He looked out the window, checking both sides of the street.

"It looks like we're clear." he said. Nevertheless, he and Ray walked closely on each side of Inspector Thatcher until they got to Ray's car. Fraser sat in the back seat with Diefenbaker, while Thatcher got the front seat. Ray drove to the station with one eye firmly on the rear view mirror.

Thatcher and Fraser watched this time, as Ray tore into McCarthy with questions about his association with Loman. The thug was still not budging, though his face had registered surprise at the mention of the name. About half an hour into Ray's badgering, McCarthy finally demanded a lawyer.

"It's no good." Ray said, coming to talk to Thatcher and Fraser. "He's not going to talk. We'll just have to find another approach."

Thatcher rubbed her temples. "Ugh. Well, thank you for trying, Detective."

Ray shrugged. "Yeah, wish I had better results for you." he said. "Listen, I don't think you should be alone. Benny, you up for escort duty?"

Fraser smiled slightly. "Of course, I'd be happy to."

"Oh, now." Thatcher protested. "They don't know where I live. That's just not necessary."

"Pardon my French," Ray said, "but bull. They've had as much time to dig around on you today as we've had to try to figure out what's going on."

"Sir, I really would feel better..." Fraser tugged at his ear.

"Fine." Thatcher said impatiently. "If you insist."

"I do." Ray said. "That's settled. I'll drop you off."

Thatcher lived in a far nicer neighborhood than Fraser. The building she was in was surrounded by a wall with a security gate. Ray dropped Fraser and Thatcher in front of it.

"My building doesn't allow pets." Thatcher said. "The wolf will have to stay with you, Detective."

Ray rolled his eyes. She was very good at sounding ungracious in the way she phrased requests.

"Sure thing. See you in the morning, Benny." He smirked slightly. Stuck with the Dragon Lady over night? Sounded horrible.

Fraser felt a certain amount of trepidation about spending the night alone with his superior officer, who also happened to be a woman, who also happened to have soft, silky skin that smelled of rare perfume and flashing eyes that could undermine his resolve in a split second. Fraser's attention drifted to the memory of her kiss before he snapped back to the reality: He wasn't there to moon over her, no matter the close proximity. He was there to keep her safe.

He blinked and ran his hands through his hair and glanced around watchfully as Inspector Thatcher keyed her entry code into the gate, which swung open in response.

They walked through. The driveway should have been empty, but there was a van parked there. Before Fraser could react, two men with guns had stepped out from behind the gate where they had been concealed. So much for the security, Fraser thought. A false sense of security was more to the point. And now what? He tensed, ready to fight to protect Inspector Thatcher.

"Don't even think of doing something stupid." one of the men said. They were not the men from the night before, they were leaner looking, and although the other men had been wearing masks, their eyes had lacked the cruel hardness on the faces of the two men with guns.

"Margaret, you've had too much time to figure out why we took a shot at you, and talk to the cop and Constable Fraser. There's a big deal going down, and you're not going to get in the way. To ensure their silence, you're coming with us. If you co-operate, no-one need be hurt. If they all can keep quiet until the ink is dry on the deal, then we'll let you go, safe and sound."

To emphasize the point, the other man turned his gun on Fraser. He spoke. "On the other hand, if you want to put up a fight, we'll kill Constable Fraser right here, and we'll be forced to go after Vecchio. What do you think? Will you come quietly?"

"No!" Fraser said sharply. "Don't go with them."

Thatcher looked into his eyes. She wouldn't let them hurt him. The men were smart, they weren't within reach, there was no way that even Fraser could turn the situation around, disarm them, whatever it was he might be thinking of trying. He'd be gunned down where he stood.

"I'll come." she said.

"No!" Fraser repeated desperately. "You can't, they'll kill you."

"Shut up." The first gunman spoke again. "Get down on the ground. Face down. Now, or she gets it anyway." He pointed his gun at Thatcher to emphasize that the leverage went both ways. He could shoot either of them, or both of them.

Fraser unwillingly complied, lying flat on the ground with his arms up near his head. As Thatcher turned to get in the van, she saw that the second gunman still had his gun trained on Fraser. She swallowed. She wasn't about to stand by while they shot him in cold blood. Her throat was suddenly dry with fear and her palms started to sweat. Her stomach knotted with dread. Whatever it cost her, she wasn't going to just meekly do as they said and let them hurt him.

The barely relevant thought crossed her mind that Fraser wasn't the only natural-born overachiever to pass through the academy. His personnel file noted his immaculate scores, but hers were as good. Maybe she wasn't as practiced at hand to hand combat as he was, but she was angry and frightened, and she had the advantage that the two gunmen weren't expecting her to put up a fight.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him if I came quietly." she stalled.

"Get in the van." the gunman closest to her said.

"Call him off, then." she said, sounding more certain than she felt.

The gunman who was targeting Fraser turned to look over his shoulder for direction.

Fraser quivered with suppressed energy. He didn't like not being able to see what was going on or do anything to protect Inspector Thatcher. He was ready to move, to try anything, at the first opening that he got, even if it meant putting himself at risk. But he couldn't dare anything that might get her shot.

Ray was less than two blocks away from Thatcher's building when he noticed that her phone must have fallen out of her purse. It was lying on the passenger seat of the Riviera.

"Guess we're going to see the Dragon Lady in her cave, huh, Dief?" he said, turning the Riviera around. He saw the gate to the driveway open, and his instincts told him to keep driving past. He caught a glimpse of the tense scene through the open gate.

"That's our cue, Dief." he said. He pulled up just past the gate and let the wolf out of the car. He followed quietly, gun drawn. Diefenbaker barreled through the gate. He made straight for the man who was aiming at Fraser. The man raised his gun to fire at Diefenbaker but he was too slow. The wolf slammed into him. Fraser rolled aside as the gun discharged, then got to his feet to join the struggle.

Inspector Thatcher used the diversion to attack the man nearest her. She wrested the gun from him with the same trained ease and raw aggression that Fraser had demonstrated the previous night, laying into him heavily until he let go of the gun that she had her hand around, and held it on him, daring him to move a muscle.

The man who Dief and Fraser were struggling with was still armed. Ray raised his gun, trying to get an angle to fire at him that wouldn't put Fraser at risk too.

"Down in front, Benny!" Ray yelled.

Fraser turned his head briefly, and saw Ray holding his gun pointed at the sky. He nodded and ducked out of the way. Diefenbaker went for the assailant's arm.

Ray yelled again. "All right, drop it, drop it. Don't make me tell the wolf to bite your hand off."

The man was still struggling with Diefenbaker, one eye on Ray, who was now covering him with his gun.

As Fraser ducked, he saw motion out of the corner of his eye. The driver's side door of the van was opening. He realized they hadn't seen the driver yet. The driver emerged from the van holding a small handgun. He was wavering between aiming at Ray and aiming at Thatcher.

Fraser shouted a general warning and dove toward the van, keeping low. Ray and Meg both had their hands full and the situation could change in an instant if he allowed the driver time to pick a target and shoot. Fraser had to stop him.

The driver heard Fraser's yell and saw him rushing toward the van. He had his target now. Ray turned in time to shoot the driver, but not in time to beat him to the draw. Both guns went off at the same time. The driver of the van fell to the ground. So did Fraser.

Diefenbaker bit down hard on the hand of the only one of the criminals who was still armed, the man Fraser had originally been fighting, causing the man to drop the gun with a scream of pain and fall to his knees. Diefenbaker kept his teeth around the man's wrist as Ray ran over to Fraser's side.

Thatcher glanced over at Fraser. The man she was holding the gun on started to move, so she smacked him hard across the temple with her weapon, knocking him out. She was sick of being the victim of circumstances. Fraser was down and she was going to see if he was all right.

Thatcher skidded across to kneel next to Ray. "How is he -" she stammered.

Fraser looked up at her. There was blood spreading across the side of his torso. staining his sweatshirt dark red. "Much... better... now." he said, a sweet smiling twitching up one corner of his mouth. "You're... safe."

Ray had his jacket off in an instant, pressed against the bullet wound.

"Damn it, Benny. Who the hell runs toward a man with a gun?" he said. He turned to Thatcher "Looks like it nicked his side, didn't go in, but bad enough. Thank god he was a moving target." he said. At close range the bullet had done plenty of damage to muscle and ribs on its way past. Ray thanked every power he could name that the gun hadn't been angled even a fraction of an inch further toward Fraser, or the Mountie would be bleeding out from a gut wound right now.

Ray looked over at the man he'd shot, who was groaning and moving. Ray handed Thatcher her phone. "Call an ambulance. I'll take care of these guys." He dragged the moaning driver, who he had apparently managed to shoot cleanly through the shoulder, and cuffed him to the second man, who was still reeling from Thatcher's blow. Then he crouched down in front of the wolf and the third assailant.

"Dief, boy, you gotta let him go. Don't worry, he's not going anywhere." Diefenbaker reluctantly released the wrist of the third man and Ray led him over to where the others were sitting.

He read them their rights. Diefenbaker sat in front of them, his teeth exposed in a snarl, fur puffed up so there was no mistaking the wolf half of him. The men had hurt his human badly, and if they moved out of line he'd make them pay. He rather hoped they would move.

Thatcher held Ray's jacket against Fraser's side while she gave details to the emergency dispatcher. Fraser's face was damp with sweat, and although he didn't make any noise, pain was written clearly across his features.

Ray came and dropped to one knee beside Fraser. He looked across at Thatcher, a question in his eyes.

"They said eight minutes." she said.

It was too long. But there was nothing to be done.

Fraser shifted, clenching his fists and scrunching his eyes closed. He made a small sound of distress. Immediately Ray reached out a hand, brushing sweat-soaked hair off his face, soothing him. "Hey, shh, hang in there for me, Benny. You're gonna be fine now." he said.

Thatcher noticed a definite sharp stab of jealousy when Fraser relaxed slightly at Ray's touch and opened his eyes, looking up with complete trust at his friend and colleague. No matter what she had shared with Fraser, she didn't have this deep connection of partnership. She didn't have the right to touch him the way Ray was. Maybe if things were different between them, they could share that bond. But right now, it was to Ray that he looked for comfort.

With one hand on Fraser's forehead and another on his shoulder, Ray kept talking in a steady, calm voice, maintaining eye contact with the injured man. Only the slight tremble of his hands told Thatcher that he was every bit as scared for Fraser as she was.

"Did you get a look at the Inspector, Benny? She was really kicking some ass there. Apparently we should worry that you Canucks are going to come down here and take over, if they're all as tough as the two of you."

Thatcher listened to his inane talk. It seemed strained to her, forced. But he was doing his best to keep Fraser distracted from the pain.

"Who do you make for the money behind this?" Ray asked Thatcher conversationally. "Loman or the Ecuadorian?"

Inspector Thatcher thought. Now he was trying to distract her, but it was better than dwelling on Fraser's condition. "Loman." she said, finally. "All the men who have come after us have been locals. I think it's more likely to be him."

When the ambulance came the paramedics wanted to take the man who Ray had shot as well as Fraser. Ray stood between them and the criminal with a look of pure fury on his face.

"Like hell." he said. "He," he pointed at the criminal, "_shot_ him." he pointed at Fraser, who was being loaded into the ambulance with Thatcher by his side. "You're not putting them in the same ambulance. I don't care. This ..." he censored his language, breathing heavily for a few seconds before he settled on "guy", "this guy can goddamn wait."

One of the paramedics stared Ray down. "Listen, officer." he said. "I know you're upset, but we got a job to do too. You need to let us do it, if you want us to get your friend to the hospital quickly."

Ray stood firm for a moment longer, hands on hips, his eyes lit with an unholy fire, before he backed down. "Just. Nothing better happen." He saw to it that the criminal was strapped into the ambulance securely before it left. He was reassured to see that Fraser seemed alert and more comfortable already under the care he was receiving.

**Author's Note: You'll want to stick around for the last chapter if you were waiting for the fireworks to go off between Meg and Ben. Oh, and for those who were disappointed that this is a short story, there's a sequel in the works. It should end up being rather more romance/action than action/romance. ;) (Possibly. Um. There's a devil on my shoulder that makes me write long, pointless action sequences, so there are no guarantees!) **

**I'm sorry if this chapter is not up to my usual polished standard. I'm having a lousy week, and I can't seem to get it to cohere, and I just want to post the damn thing. As always thanks for reading and thanks for your feedback!**


	5. That's the Way I Feel

**Chapter 5 - That's the Way I Feel  
(I'll Put My Arms Around You)**

By the time the ambulance reached the hospital there were police officers waiting to take Thatcher to a safe house. She was parted from Fraser with no ceremony and bundled off in a waiting car. Fraser was barely aware that she'd left until he looked around automatically from the wheeled stretcher to confirm visually that she was safe, a tic that seemed to have developed in the ambulance, and was seized with a moment of panic when she wasn't there.

Fraser tried to sit upright. Strong hands held him down by the shoulders. He looked up to see one of the paramedics, a stocky woman with cropped grey hair. She had a worried look on her face.

"Sir, you need to stay still. It's all right. We're at the hospital now."

"Where is she?" Fraser said anxiously.

"The woman who was with you? She left with the police." the paramedic said. She was no longer holding him down, and the stretcher was being wheeled through the ambulance bay.

"I'm sure your friend is fine." the paramedic added. She was touched that even though the patient was hurt, he was more worried about someone other than himself. But he had to keep still so he wouldn't hurt himself more.

Not that she was too concerned. The patient was a combination of young, strong, healthy and crucially, lucky. His prognosis was good.

Thatcher was supposed to lie low in the safe house and stay out of contact and out of harm's way, but ten hours of trying to sleep, followed by four hours of pacing, meant that by ten o'clock the next morning she was driving herself and her guards absolutely crazy. There was nothing to do _but_ pace, worry, or watch television, and she wasn't in the mood for a stream of flickering inanities.

"Just let me make one call. One call. That's all." she finally snapped at one of the hapless men. He rolled his eyes and handed her his cell phone, deciding that a bit of peace was worth the minimal risk. She put a call through the Consulate.

"Canadian Consulate, this is Acting Deputy Liaison Constable Turnbull acting. I mean speaking. This is Speaking Deputy Constab- I mean Acting-"

Thatcher cut Turnbull off impatiently.

"Constable Turnbull. I called to find out if there was any word about Constable Fraser's condition."

"Oh, yes Sir! I saw him myself. I'm very worried. I think that we should have him airlifted back to Canada immediately."

Thatcher gasped. "What?"

"Well, I'm just not sure that all this fatty, sugary American hospital food is-"

Thatcher almost crushed the phone in irritation.

"Never mind the food, what did the doctor say?"

"They say they're keeping him for a few days, to make sure he stays on bed rest. Apparently the bullet splintered the end of one of his ribs, but they dug all the pieces out, and luckily it didn't puncture his lung."

Thatcher winced. Well, yes, that was lucky, but she hadn't even thought of the possibility. He'd come so close to... she didn't want to think about it.

"Well, thank you Constable Turnbull, and if you see him again, " she paused. "Well, just tell him- tell him that he should follow doctor's orders." It was lame, but she couldn't bring herself to send a warmer message via Turnbull.

Turnbull filled Thatcher in on what was going on with the rest of the case. The man who shot Fraser had rolled over on Loman almost as soon as Ray started interrogating him, perhaps aided by a misplaced conviction that Fraser had died in the ambulance. Ray wasn't telling how the man happened to come by this idea, but thinking that he was on the hook for murder had certainly loosened the man's tongue.

With that information, the FBI stepped in. Loman's records were seized. Loman, however, was nowhere to be found. The airports had been alerted, and his accounts were frozen. Ray believed he was lying low somewhere, but finding him fast was of the essence.

The Ecuadorian Trade Minister had already been recalled to his country in disgrace before he could be arrested for negotiating to accept a large bribe from Loman's company to help secure oil rights in what was supposed to be a protected national park area.

Ray and the FBI agents assigned to the case had apparently been up all night scouring the Loman Corporation's records. A cursory reading of the most relevant documents showed that the company had already been allowed to do secret oil surveying in the area to find the best parcel of land. The oil would have been worth billions of dollars over the future decades, and the Ecuadorian Government was putting pressure on the FBI to find Loman so he could be extradited to face charges there as well.

It took a full half hour of questions to extract the gist of this information from Turnbull, and when she was done, Thatcher had a headache. But she could understand why Loman had acted so decisively to try to kill or capture her. The amounts at stake and the sheer illegality of it all was breathtaking.

After talking to Turnbull, Thatcher sat in front of the television, hugging one of the couch cushions to her chest, watching Oprah smile and smile at her latest troubled guest. Her mind wasn't on the talk show. As the guest spilled her guts to Oprah about how her man did wrong by her, Thatcher's thoughts turned to the problem of Fraser.

Clearly, he was indifferent to her. She examined every interaction they'd had since the train. Certainly, she had made it plain to him that the kiss they had shared must remain nothing but a memory. But if he cared for her at all, he'd have argued, right? He wouldn't just let her tell him it didn't mean anything.

He was so reserved, so proper. Surely he couldn't feel anything like what she felt. It must only be her. What they had on the train, that was just his shock at the situation. It wasn't real.

And then there was her career. He had no ambition that she could see, and she was going as far as she could in the Force. And his partnership with Detective Vecchio - who could play a third wheel to that and be happy?

Several days of repeating this conversation in her head while staring blankly at babbling television celebrities was plenty for Thatcher to have talked herself out of her feelings. What she was refusing to think about, refusing to allow to stay in her mind for more than a moment, was her real fear. A fall from a train, a stray bullet, he could be gone in an instant. How could she allow herself to be in love with him?

And yet, every night when she closed to her eyes to try to sleep, the image of that sweet half-smile after he was shot would come to her, the way he'd said "You're safe." as if it made all the difference in the world to him.

Fraser was frustrated at being sidelined from the investigation during his hospital stay. When he was released from hospital, he was eager to finish the job. Sitting in Ray's Riviera, his arm gingerly guarding his bandaged side, he looked through the file on Loman.

"It's not over yet, Ray." he said. "We have some tracking to do." His face clouded over. He wouldn't say it, but he felt a particular desire to bring to justice the man who'd tried to have Inspector Thatcher killed.

Ray grinned. It was good to see his partner champing at the bit for action, even if he wasn't ready for any heavy lifting yet.

"Attaboy, Benny." he said. "We'll get our man." Of course, he amended silently, not until Fraser was guaranteed not to bust stitches chasing anyone over any rooftops.

-o-O-o-O-o-

Fraser hadn't been home from the hospital for more than a few hours before there was a knock on the door. He stood warily. Diefenbaker was not setting off an alarm. That was a good sign. Still, he also wasn't jumping at the door eager to welcome Ray in. And besides, it was nearly dinner time at the Vecchio residence. So who could be visiting?

Fraser opened the door to find Thatcher standing on the threshold. She wasn't dressed quite as casually as he was - in sweat pants and a t-shirt for ease of changing without pulling at his stitches and bandages- but she was dressed a lot more casually than he'd seen her before, in a mis-matched combination of one of her suit skirts and a faded Leafs sweater, soft with age, that clung to every contour of her body. A pair of scuffed moccasins over bare feet completed the scruffy ensemble. Her hair was tucked back behind her ears, and dark circles under her eyes suggested to Fraser that she had not been sleeping well.

"Inspector." he said with some surprise.

"Constable Fraser. How are you?" she asked. He wondered if she'd come over to his neighborhood just to ask that.

"Sore. Healing." He smiled slightly. "I thought Constable Turnbull would have reported on my condition."

"Well, yes." she said. That was a phone call she didn't need to rehash any time soon.

"And you?" Fraser asked politely.

"Fine. I'm fine." She cleared her throat. "May I come in?"

"Oh. Sorry, Sir, of course." He was embarrassed that her sudden appearance on his doorstep had startled him out of his good manners. He seemed to be making a habit of keeping her standing on his doorstep.

"Please, we're off duty." she said as she entered his small residence. Of course, she didn't have anything to call him that wasn't formal, either. "Call me Meg." she said. This barrier wasn't going to be easy to get over.

"All right. Meg." Fraser said, carefully. He was confused. She hadn't visited in the hospital, she hadn't been able to leave the safe house until now, and he didn't know what she wanted from him that she had come to his apartment, especially not looking like she'd thrown on the first clothes that came to hand. They stood uncertainly inside the threshold.

"I- Const- Benton, I need to talk to you." Thatcher wiped her hands nervously down her skirt.

"Would you like to sit down?" Fraser asked.

"No. Thank you. I won't be here long." Thatcher said. "I just need to know. Dammit. Why do you have to make it so hard?" she said in frustrated tones, looking at his open, curious expression. "I just need to know, did it mean anything? On the train? Do I mean anything to you, anything at all?"

Fraser closed the gap between them, moving closer to her unconsciously. His lips were parted as he looked into her hurt eyes. What could he say? She'd told him that the kiss they'd shared could never happen again. She'd treated him brusquely ever since, not that it was very different from how she treated him before the incident. If he had been holding back, it was for her. For her career. For her fears. Because he didn't trust himself in love. But how could he tell her all of that?

Thatcher turned away. Obviously, she thought, it had meant nothing to him, because he was struck dumb by her question.

Action was a lot easier for Fraser than words. He couldn't let her leave like that. He reached out, touched her arm, little more than a brush, turned her toward him, his hand moving up to tangle in her hair as he bent to kiss her. She tilted her face upward, the hurt gone from her eyes as their lips met. Her hands reached out to touch him, to feel that this was real. Fraser pulled her closer, one hand stroking her head and the other pressed against her back. Did she _mean_ anything to him? With his lips moving against hers, possessive, exploratory, taking in her softness, her sweetness, could she doubt that she meant something to him?

He wasn't the sort of man who could demonstrate that kind of passion recklessly, without something deeper under it. All the desperate yearning for affection, for the touch of someone who cared for him, all the powerful emotions that she aroused in him, he couldn't push them down under the rigid constraints of duty any longer, not with her standing in front of him looking lost because she thought he didn't care for her.

Meg reacted to his kiss with an instinctive drive for more. Her lips moved with an urgency against his as her hands clung to him, holding him tight to her, feeling the heat of his body pressed against hers through their clothes, her curves fitting against his almost overwhelmingly masculine solidity. Their embrace lasted until Meg's hand strayed and pressed against Fraser's bandaged side accidentally. He yelped in surprised pain, and they pulled apart.

"I'm so sorry." Meg said. And it wasn't just for the accidental pain that she'd caused him. All the things that the touch of their lips had communicated, all his longing, there was a lot more than a moment's _physical_ pain that she owed him an apology for. She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, make up for all the times she'd misunderstood him.

"I should... tea?" Fraser said, moving quickly to boil water. He needed time to put some semblance of the wall back up. The connection between them was too open, too raw. Especially when he knew how things were going to end. He ran his hand through his hair while the water heated. If she hadn't brushed against him the wrong way, things would have rapidly progressed somewhere they shouldn't go without a lot more consideration and a lot less pure lust-driven impulse.

"Tea. Yes." Meg said. She sat at the table and looked at her fingernails while he prepared two cups of tea. He sat down next to her with a wince at the pain in his side.

"You... know you do mean something to me." Fraser said. "Very much so. I care for you... deeply." He wanted to say the words, even though he was sure that she had received the message loud and clear while their bodies had been locked together.

"But?" Thatcher said, controlling the part of her voice that wanted to become sharp and shrill and defensive.

"But you also know that this isn't the right time or the right place." Fraser said. "I wouldn't do that to you. Fraternization - as my commanding officer, you could get in a lot of trouble, no matter what I want, or how I feel about it. And-" he smiled wryly "I suspect I make your career difficult enough as it is, without complicating matters any further."

"So - you'd give me up without a fight?" Thatcher said. She winced at her own words. Why should the blame lie on him?

He reached out and put his hand on top of hers, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "I would fight for you if I thought I had the right to. But I want you to be happy. Perhaps, one day we could be-. Perhaps one day you could be happy with me." his voice trembled slightly. "But I don't want to be something you regret. Never."

Thatcher opened her mouth to protest, but she couldn't, not in honesty. Honestly, there were good reasons they had both been pretending that there was nothing between them. Very good reasons. All the reasons she'd given herself. But part of her wished he'd say to hell with it and carry her away with the force of the desire that he was suppressing.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"Go on. Live. Keep telling ourselves that we need a speeding train under us to feel anything. Wait until the time is right. I don't have an answer, and I'm sorry for that." Fraser said. He closed his eyes, hiding a bleak look of loneliness.

"We could pretend that none of it mattered, just for a little while." Thatcher's voice was small, pleading, not her strident tone of command.

Fraser opened his eyes, finding himself once more caught in her gaze. He couldn't help himself. He'd walk through fire to save her, and yet he was supposed to deny himself the warmth of her touch. Even from the smallest point of contact of her hand under his, he could feel the electricity of her need. No matter the logic of his arguments, no matter how much more it might hurt to give her up if he gave in to desire now, there was only so much he could hold out against 'for her own good.'

Fraser slid from his chair and knelt next to Meg, lifting his face up to her. She leaned down, her arms around his broad shoulders as she met his invitation, her kisses gently roaming his cheeks and chin before returning to his mouth, finding his eager lips. He moaned softly, this time not a sound of pain at all. His hands stroked her bare legs and moved up her back, drifting under her sweatshirt to feel her silky skin. She felt his hunger in the way his fingers moved restlessly, as if he wanted to know all of her by touch as well as he did by sight and scent.

In all the times that Meg had dreamed of being in Fraser's arms, she had imagined his naïveté around women translating to something more fumbling and less assured than the way he was responding to her caresses now. His lips moved from hers, straying down to her neck. She let her head fall back as he trailed kisses down to her collar bone. He had an intuitive sensuality that had nothing to do with experience and everything to do with his ability to read every shiver, every small sound she made with perfect clarity. It was easy to forget all the reasons why this shouldn't be happening.

Fraser didn't protest when she leaned down further to tug his t-shirt off. He moved his arms for just long enough to let her lift the shirt up, and more or less tolerated the interruption to his exploration of her pale throat as the shirt came off over his head. He didn't resist as she slipped forward off her chair to join him on the floor, pushing him down softly from his knees to his back, leaning over him on her hands and knees, her fingers tracing the old scar on his chest.

Then her hands ran lightly over the bruising that showed at the edges of the bandage wrapped around his ribs. The contrast between the dark, mottled marks and the smooth perfection that she'd seen when he'd taken his undershirt off for her to treat the graze on his arm struck her. Tears formed in her eyes, and her hair hung over her face like a curtain, hiding it from him.

"Is something the matter?" Fraser lifted his head and propped himself carefully on his elbows.

"I just- they did this to you." Meg said in a low voice. "I can't stand that I couldn't do anything to stop it. I could lose you so easily."

"I'll heal." Fraser said. "Please..." he reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. She nuzzled her face into his caress.

There were things that there were no words to say. Fraser had no words to express that he knew, he knew how she felt about wanting to stand between him and harm. It wasn't fair to her, but since the threat to her life, he and Ray had done everything possible to make sure she wasn't going to be the one to get hurt. He couldn't promise she wouldn't lose him. He couldn't even promise that he'd be careful.

"Please." he said again. "Just be here with me now." She looked into his eyes and saw such depth of feeling that it took her breath away. What he saw in her eyes in response was her deepest secret, how close she was to falling in love with him.

He ran his fingers through her hair again, and then his hand slipped under her chin, guiding her face back up to his, his uneven breathing and slightly open lips forming an unspoken demand for her kiss, which she met with enthusiasm, her mouth once more on his. This was the point of no return. He knew he should stop, be the strong one, the one who did what was right even if it ripped him apart, but this felt right, this felt so right, his hands on her felt right, her lips against his skin felt right. They fit together. He needed her. She needed him. Let it be that simple, for once in his life.

-o-O-o-O-o-

Ray Vecchio was on a mission to make sure that his best friend wasn't stuck at home alone on his first night out of the hospital without any food or company. To that end, he'd even gone so far as to pay for pizza. When he showed up on Fraser's doorstep and found the door ajar, he pushed it open cautiously, the hand not holding the pizza reaching for his gun.

He was expecting the worse, fearing that one of Loman's men had come after Fraser. He didn't expect what he saw at all. Ray's eyes were wide with surprise as he silently turned to leave, closing the door behind him. Before he could close it, Diefenbaker slipped through, with his eyes on Ray's pizza box.

Ray looked down at Diefenbaker. "I hope he knows what he's doing." he said dryly. He didn't think that threats to kill Thatcher if SHE ever did anything to hurt his friend would go over so well with either of the Mounties. Ray scribbled a note on a piece of paper saying that he was taking Dief home with him and stuck it under the door.

"C'mon, Dief buddy. There are times between a man and a woman, when all a guy can do is split a pizza with a wolf and keep his nose out of it." Ray shook his head and headed for the stairs, Diefenbaker trailing behind him

**End  
**

**Author's Note: Loman needs catching! And woah, a couple of Mounties need to sort out their feelings pretty sharpish, I'd say! Because that didn't look like a casual roll in the hay to me. (Hope Fraser didn't pull out any stitches!) So stay tuned for the sequel. Thanks to everyone who took the time to review. Your feedback is important to me, and very much appreciated. And especial thanks to vic32, without whose advice this would not have been half the romantic adventure.**


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